It’s a beautiful sky tonight,
I can’t help but look up and wonder why,
In your eyes I see the night?
And why I’m sending kisses to the breeze?
Send them rustling through the trees,
Like leaves. Like stars.
Your memories are bountiful and they surround me.

I sit there, I sit here,
Looking up in disbelief
The stars they dance in the air.
Your beauty perfumes the spaces between.
And again you have invaded me.
I’m a helpless *** on the street
Roaming, searching
For what I need
I need you. I need the magic tea,
You brew in me
With your touch
Fire blazing chest deep
It’s addicting to me.

While I’ve collected every movie and song,
I’ve remembered every verse to each one,
Every romantic symphony.
The colours now that I see
They swirl to meet
And there it is
Your soul they reveal.
There it is, the night
In your eyes.
Once more you drown me.

But here comes relief,
The sun is coming up soon
And all the dreams I dreamed
Seam a bit more real.
Getting lost in the heavens
I’m finding my way back to land,
As you reach for my hand,
And the fantasy is made real.
Here comes the sunlight,
Yet still in your eyes I see the night,
In the mysterious darkness
That’s where love hides.

there's a car not drifting by, there's a voice
not being heard.
there are steps not being taken
outside on the dark street,
but then again that might just be me.
as the silence fills in, i try to inaugurate new ways
to neglect that it has even been here,
has ever loomed over my soul
(i pretend
and fail to accomplish, but the mission is just too
difficult for my childish hands).
and i read over all the things i have already read
tonight, as if the answer for my prayers could be found
in the words of mortals, because if they are, i have
yet to find
proof

that one day, oh maybe for one fleeting second
you ever thought i might just be
the answer to your calls and quests, the ideal
of something that no one can ever quite match,
the epitome of the longing imaginarium that you
carry inside, like the rest of us, just flesh and blood
mortals, the one vision, incubus of ambiguous substance
that your heart can't deny itself.
call it noble, call it gallant, but love has never
interest me.
the songs it sings, the blood is rushes, the
the hearts it steals, the dreams it envisions
are just a new form of  destroying whatever
rationally brings.
must we forever suffer this burning *****,
with such bittersweet ache?

It’s the dark marks you left after you bit me.
I’m not doubting your soul, I’m just wondering
About its location, and
I’m warning myself
To once again, to once more
Not throw myself
To the dogs
To not jump the shark, hit the ground.

You always liked pop culture references, love.
Can I swear? Can I hate you when your fingers
Are touching me and when your skin flirts with mine?
Can I break down on my knees
(I bet you’d like that)
And start screaming, with all the rage and all the ******
Love I still, always, feel for you, as it rubs off all my
Confidence, as it rips apart, ****** inch by ****** inch,
Every part of my stomach, and every part of my not
Yet fully mended soul, as your fingers follow the trail of
Sin and pleasure, up and down, in a deaf rhythm, my limbs.

Can I, fully aware, relish in your touch, as your fingers
Trace every scar and every memory that your presence
Has left through the years on my skin?

Do you know how all the teeth marks on my shoulders
Remind me of a night? Not just any night. A night where
I counted stars, literally and in the abstract, as I sat down
And forgot how to use words and the sinking feeling of knowing
That not even beloved poetry could really give the feeling
Of how beastly I feel nearly you.
Oh limbs, that cry for touch and strength.
How can I make justice
From you?
How can I possibly honor the feeling of hungry need?
As it beats, craves, screams it’s eerily war cries.

Despair is my nom du guerre.
Oh, how reason has deserted me.

They didn't need the sea
nor words
but a ploy to escape
their own dulled image
familiar faces and spaces
weary conversations
a place away
where the mind rested
and silence filled the cracks
healed the holes
to a whole
contented in being there
in the room for two
counting day's pick
smelling dead shells
feeling sea in their cells
and when the night was high
surrendering to sleep.

Where the river abandons herself to the creek
and the mudbank is cratered with crabclaws
waits the old man.

He doesn't know his years
but his ears are a sonic gift
catching the tonal variations of tides
seemingly for eons
evolving with the mangrove map
into a flawless tracker
of how far the moon would recline
for ***** to be holed out
and what shoreline the water would touch
before the shrimps starlight driven
make a beeline for the net.

I encountered him once
in the absurdity of a time
when I was high
and he lowly crouching
was making art by the creek.

Who was the poet
I could never tell.

No one goes to the beach anymore.

Through the casuarinas the waves look a long trek
the lovers when from the city take a break
can only hold hands on the sands
wistfully eyeing the sea a mile away
then kissing and making up the day
riding to where the winds take them
spinning yarns along the thickly saline haze
of what could be and will be
downing the present in the crystal pool
placid as the lost yearnings in their hearts.